Ghost Of A Treasure
by Rachel Mantegna
Summary: A somewhat parody of A Christmas Carol, but just the ghost idea. Takes place during NT1, after Ben shows up at Patrick's house with the Declaration. One-Shot.


**A/N A kind of parody of **_**A Christmas Carol **_**but has nothing to do with Christmas. Story has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I guess now is the best time to post it :)**

Patrick Gates had had one of the worst days of his life, and that was really saying something. He had had his share. His son had showed up on his doorstep with 2 friends who had helped him steal the Declaration Of Independence. Then they had to tie him to a chair and he had to wait for the FBI to come knocking on his door. He had lied to the head of the FBI. He learned that Ben had taken his car and was out chasing the non-existent treasure. He remembered when he had been like that, though he had tried his hardest to forget. He only ever started thinking about his treasure hunting days when he was tired, so he figured he should get some sleep.

Patrick got in bed and decided he wanted to sleep for a very long time. He would prefer not to face life in prison for him or his son, even if they acted like they didn't care. He drifted slowly to sleep.

_Patrick was in his bed, sleeping soundly when his alarm clock shrieked. _What? _He thought. I didn't have my alarm clock set. There was a dark figure coming towards him. Patrick scrambled out of bed and made his way to the wall, but couldn't do anything considering it was a dead end and he was just an old man._

"_Patrick…" the shadow started to moan. _

"_Wh- who are you?" Patrick asked, quivering._

"_It's me, your father,"_

_The figure moved closer, and Patrick could see it was none other than John Adams Gates. _

"_Dad, what are you doing?" Patrick was regaining his courage._

"_I'm here to warn you. Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts. You need your faith in treasure restored; your son needs you."_

_The ghost started to fade away._

"_Dad? Dad! Where are you going?" Patrick all but yelled. "Dad!" But he was already gone. _

Patrick woke up, drenched in sweat.

"Just a dream, just a dream," he mumbled over and over to himself. He could go back to sleep and just dream another dream now. He shut his eyes and let his natural senses take over.

_He was once again woken by his alarm clock going off again. _Oh, no. Not again. _He started looking around, looking for his dad to pop out at the doorway again. No figure yet. He walked over to the door, but felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped._

"_Are you looking for me?" a male with young looks asked him. _

"_Not really. Who are you?" Patrick asked, already convinced this man was a ghost._

"_Thomas Gates. C'mon, you remember the story your father told you years ago. Charles Carroll told me the story of the Templar Treasure, but you know that," this ghost told him arrogantly._

"_I was actually trying to forget,"_

"_Well then, let's head back to that fateful day," Thomas Gates told the younger generation. _

"_No, no!" but Patrick's protests were too late. There was a sudden flash of light, and there they were; sitting in his father's living room._

"_**It was 1832 on a very rainy night. Charles Carroll was the last surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence. He was also a member of a secret society known as the Masons. It was urgent he speak to the president as he knew he was dying. He woke up his stable boy in the middle of the night and ordered him to take him to the White House to see Andrew Jackson, the current president."**_

"_**Then what happened dad?" Young Patrick asked, curiously.**_

_And his father told him the story of the Templar Treasure. Patrick saw the light in his eyes he hadn't had in so long. He saw how happy his young self looked, how much he wanted to find the treasure. _

"_See how much you used to want to find the treasure? I promised Charles Carroll I would find it, and when I couldn't, I was sure my family would find it. Don't you want it?" Thomas Gates asked Patrick. He did want it, he always had, but he couldn't keep looking for it. He lost his wife because of the treasure. He and his son could barely get along because of the treasure. He had no choice but to give up this impossible dream._

"_I lost almost everything because of it. I lost Emily, lost my relationship with Ben. I couldn't lose the few shards of happiness left in my life." Patrick told the ghost._

_Ghostly Thomas was shaking his head. What did this ghost know anyway? _

"_I would like to go home now." Patrick said in a steady voice._

"_Not quite yet," the ghost smirked._

"_Yes, right now!" Patrick lost his cool, "I hate this treasure! It ruined me, my family. Take me home now."_

_He had gripped the ghost's clothing and was shaking him. Next thing Patrick knew, he was at home in his bed, shaking a pillow._

Okay, that wasn't a dream. No, it was not. All the sudden the radio started blaring. Patrick hit the top hard, but it was no use. It wouldn't stop. Another bright light, another ghostly figure.

"_Who are you?" Patrick asked. He knew it was a ghost, he just didn't know who's ghost it was._

"_Your grand-father, of course," Charles Gates grinned._

"_And, you're here to show me what's happening right now?"_

"_I am." The blazing light burst again. _

"_Now, we are in Philadelphia. You know who is here?" The ghost paused for a few seconds, just long enough to look at Patrick, and pointed to Ben. He was walking quickly and with purpose, a cylinder tube strapped to his back. He crossed the street and began running. The ghost grasped Patrick's shoulder and they were following Ben. There were quickly two men running behind Ben. Ben dodged into a graveyard and they started shooting._

"_Ben!" Patrick yelled, "They have guns, watch out!"_

"_He can't hear you," Grandpa told him, "You're just a ghost, like me."_

_Patrick kept watching his son being fired at. Ben was running out the graveyard, and there was another man waiting for him on that side. Ben ran out and –_

"What?! Grandpa!" Patrick shouted. It was no use. He was back in bed. He had no idea what happened to his son. He pulled up his covers and forced his eyes shut, trying to forget what he had just seen.

He heard his door creak open. He sat up in bed and opened his eyes. A built figure with shoulder length blonde hair entered.

"I suppose you're hear to show me the future?" Patrick croaked out.

In a thick, British accent, the man replied, "Well, why don't we go for a ride?"

**A/N Please review :) **


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